


Something Fishy

by Relurker



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Comedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relurker/pseuds/Relurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for April Fools Day (a challenge issued by Sunalso on Elysian Fields: write a one shot or short chaptered fic with the craziest premise you can come up with-).<br/>I believe this could be a first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Fishy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for April Fools Day (a challenge issued by Sunalso on Elysian Fields: write a one shot or short chaptered fic with the craziest premise you can come up with-).  
> I believe this could be a first.

 

 

**“Something Fishy”**

by **Relurker**

 Buffy was dragging her feet through Restfield after a short patrol (her current excuse was movie night with the gang, although her increasing tiredness could have factored in), when she heard the usual shuffling sounds of Spike navigating his way between the tombstones. She reached him when he was trying to squeeze into his own crypt and just couldn't resist: "Need a shoehorn?"

 "Ha bloody ha, Slayer. Don't you have anywhere else you should be?"

 "Why, yes, I'm going home, you know, through the door--easy peasy."

 "You're a real crowd pleaser--not. Not my fault they make crypt doors this narrow"

 "Narrow? Oh, I know: you could always move to the abandoned bus depot...or lose a couple hundred pounds, that could  work, too."

 Spike fixed her with narrowed eyes in his plump face "Didn't you bloody Americans invent that politically correctness idiocy?     Not kosher to take the piss out of a portly bloke."

 "Hey, I didn't know you cared for us colonials’-here she fixed him with a unsympathetic stare-‘Just try not to get stuck, I won't be around to extract you."

Spike was incensed: "One of these days..."

 "One of these days what, you're gonna _sit_  on me?" And away she went with a grin on her face.

 Spike was so dumbfounded that he couldn't even come up with a meager comeback.

 He entered sideways into the crypt and went to sit heavily on the huge battered chesterfield that was currently doubling as a bed--he could not even remember when he had to stop using the lower level, and the lack of space in the upper room was getting onto his last nerves. After stuffing his substantial winnings into a hole in one of the cushions, he lit a well deserved fag with his trusty silver lighter emblazoned--very sensitively--with a shark, and considered dispassionately his terrifically improved poker face: apparently, no tells could make it beyond the lard layers, nobody caught on with his cheating either, never guessing his sleight of hand abilities had nothing to do with his tonnage. _Making an honest unliving out of poker is a right shame. If it wasn’t for the damned chip..._ and why would the military want to defang a stupidly big creature too fat to hunt or even scare people was beyond guessing. _All buggered up as usual in the land of Spike._ But still, in spite of not remembering a time when he was not so fat, there were holes, confusing missing times in his memory, sensations of being fast... and most of all there was the puzzling leather coat he found stashed away in the coffin with a whole bunch of slim sized stuff, smelling so much of himself, and blood, and something powerful—what did it all mean? And why did the exchange with Buffy still burn? Not like he had any desire to chat her up, hear all the sordid details on how the idiot soldier had left, did he.

**************************************

 Meanwhile, across the continent, Ethan Rayne was enjoying his brand new, very comfortable status as personal consultant to the devilishly charming, coolness impersonated governor of NJ. After the debacle in Sunnydale that put him under government custody, he had been interrogated, tested and prodded and generally harassed until some advisor with more than the two required brain cells had thought to put him and his skills to “use” in the public administration—no need to say, in just a few weeks he was handling things his own way, pulling the strings behind a very powerful politician rumored to be headed to higher places, and working on his revenge on Rupert and his circle of merry men at the same time. Rupert would never see it coming...

******************************************

 Buffy was not smiling when she exited Restfield. Making fun of Spike for his weight was really not kosher. She could figure her mother’s disappointment if she knew of her rudeness, but very mysteriously it seemed like she just could not avoid crossing the large vampire’s path almost every night, as if looking for something missing.

  _Yeah, right. Not so much missing as hiding behind all that vampire meat._  But something was not right, there, and combined with her extreme tiredness, and Giles’ general bossiness, there was enough to make her uneasy.

************************************

 Ten minutes into movie night, and she was feeling drained. Xander was possibly in a monomaniacal mood, wearing one from his endless collection of ugly shirts, this one with Japanese carps on it, and his selection of movies for the night was between Why Has Bodhi-Dharma Left for the East?, Death of a Tea Master and Painted Fire, all in original versions with subs—not that there was much talking done. “Is there any fighting in this one?”, she’d tentatively asked, picking up the Tea Master one, only to have him mumbling something about symbolism and hidden meaning before asking for some silence. _They were probably in the three for one basket_. Willow was having none of it, though. ”Did you see the assignment for English lit class? Such a bore—but what do you expect from a dorkazoid as Ms. Murray. She’s probably thinking I’m going to _read_  it, too. Fat chance. Speaking of which, how’s your pal Moby-Vamp doing?”

 “Why should I know?’ she temporized, feeling a stirring of unease, ‘Not like I have to keep tabs on a chipped vampire that was bagging it even before the Initiative got him’— _I think_ —’and I still don’t get why they did it. I mean, someone would have had to sit on his lap and stayed still for him to bite them”

 “Now that’s some unasked for imagery! Gross, Buffy, I didn’t think you had it in you!”

 “What? Wait, what are you...”

 “Would you two please can it? This part with the river is key.”

 Chastised, Buffy pouted a little. Willow was ace at pushing her buttons and putting her in a defensive mode.  _Spike’s not my pal, or anything, he’s just fun to talk to—or at,--that is, fun to insult a little, and he usually gives back just as good as he gets._

 “I’m not paying my part for this yawn’, announced Willow, ‘I wanted to see American Pie.” Buffy felt herself blush--she never even thought about chipping in for the movies--then again, it was her place, and her pop-corn, even if Mum had gone to bed early and wasn’t yet in any condition to make the usual chocolate or anything. She scraped up enough energy to offer: “Who wants a soda?”

 At that point the others finally made it, too, but before they were even settled down, everybody switching places like in a game of musical chairs, Giles arrived, all tweed and tie—a kind of frivolous one, tiny swordfish all over it--with thunder in his cold eyes. ” Buffy. What is the meaning of this? I’m disappointed in you. Should I remind you once again that your reports for this past week were late, and tonight--did you even patrol tonight—it’s rather early to be home already—although if that’s done with, I strongly recommend you take out your notebook and start putting your observations together for the Council’s review.” Then he raised a steady glare towards the others,   “I’m quite positive that you all have something better to do with your evening, _elsewhere_ , and since Buffy and I have important work to do, I’ll bid you all goodnight.”

 With a token protest from Anya--“But I just arrived, I didn’t have any social intercourse or snacks yet!”--everybody were just happy to leave the wrath of Giles behind, and away they went.

 “Uh, Giles, was it,  was that necessary? It’s just one night a week...”

 “Just one _night_.’, he said softly, coldly, ‘by all means, tell it to the people it was your Sacred Calling’-she distinctly heard the capitols-‘ to save. Better yet, just stake them all at once after they’ve been _turned_ , it will give you more free time for lollygagging about and neglecting your more elementary duties”. Buffy blinked back something, swallowed, and wearily set to write down the report for tonight’s slaying.

***********************************

 Meanwhile in New Jersey, Ethan was half listening to Chris’ executives meeting, bored almost to tears. They were all fawning over him, naturally, and why not? the guy had such a charming way of noticing each of them and paying attention to all of their stupid issues. Always taking the right decision, always with the right quotation from an article or a classic, a funny joke here and there to raise their spirit when they  were exhausted—not him, he was never tired, and most of all was never tired of flirting. How that could go down so well with all sexes and ages of the staff people was a testament to Ethan’s skill in weaving his spell—but he was a bit disgusted nonetheless. Plus, he really, really wanted to go see how Rupert was dealing with the spell’s consequences. The Governor’s private jet was always ready, and there weren’t plans for using it in the next few days; no fun to be had without a little gloating, was there?

****************************************

 This night was going much better. Buffy had finished dispatching a couple of vampire fashionistas, and it had put her in a good mood for the first time in a while: sure, it had been a very close call: with her energy at an all time low, she’d found herself in serious peril, but the two ditzy heads were so preoccupied with their brand name accessories that had failed to take advantage of her weakness. And to think that two such specimens shouldn’t have given her any trouble. Thinking back she had the impression—no, she _knew_ \--that it wasn’t always like this, or how could she have dealt with crisis after crisis since her calling? It was like she wasn’t lively enough to fill the Slayer’s role anymore,  and again, it felt _wrong_.  She’d tried to talk to Giles about it, but he would give her the hairy eyeball and present her with more forms to fill and timetables to stick to. Buffy sighed.  The fight had brought her to the back street behind Willy’s, where the air smelled of burnt rubber and a damp mist was drifting between piles of garbage in the empty lot on the other side. While she thought it better to count her blessings and skedaddle before more vampires with more spunk would find her right here in their territory, she spotted the one vampire that could not scare a bunny. His back was to her, but the size and hair were unmistakable, and he was standing near an ugly big black ancient car. He didn’t even move when she came closer, so enraptured with staring at it that he’d probably not realized she was there.

 “Boo.” she said, and had the kick of seeing him start in surprise at finding her so near.

 Without even turning around he asked: ”Have you seen this car? I mean, have you seen it before?”

 “I couldn’t avoid seeing it now, it’s the only thing bigger than you in here, and what’s the fascination with it?”

 “Well, it _is_  a beauty, isn’t it? But not what I was asking. Do you _remember_  it?”

 “Spike, you’re officially wigging me. I don’t make a point of checking for _evil_  cars, my hands are full enough with the actually evil likes of you, and why should I remember it?”

 Spike looked disappointed for a second, then haltingly mused as to himself “It just looks...but then I don’t think I could even fit behind the wheel...but I could swear... and it _smells_  like _me_.” He fixed darkened eyes to her face and in a gravelly voice said  “Something is wrong”

 Buffy could not keep in a very unladylike snort: “Tell me about it: I’m goofing off in a dangerous back alley where any moment some vampire—of the deadly variety—(and this brought a look of indignation from him)--could come and get me, because you’re entertaining yourself with how a car smells? Which is weird even for you. And the weirdest part of it? I hate the idea of going home to write my report more than I hate this.”

 “Ha! Right there! You must see how wrong it is that you’re scared of a few run-of-the-mill vampires! Isn’t that your job description? I’m telling you, the world has gone topsy-turvy when the best Slayer I’ve ever met is afraid of the fight and lives in the shadow of her overstuffed Watcher.”

 “Do you really think...?’—Buffy started with a tentative smile—‘Wait a minute, you’re just greasing me to get me to listen to you! Why’s that?”

 “Come now, Buffy, I can almost taste the wrongness-“

 “So what, it makes you hungry?”

 “AAARGH! Enough with the fat jokes! I’m NOT hungry! Point of fact, I don’t even know how I got this fat—it seems as I’ve been like this forever, but at the same time, I feel like I’m living in someone else’s body, I remember being lean and mean and  fast, I was _fast_...”

 By this point, Buffy could see his eyes shining suspiciously, plus, something in what he was saying felt eerily familiar.

 “I’m willing to play along, as long as you don’t waste my time with your games. It’s late and I’m tired. Talk.”

 “Right, not here tho’. Let’s head over to the Bronze—this time of night the big couches are gonna be available—and I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

With a scowl meant to keep her from commenting he started waddling in that direction, and Buffy followed  him hiding a smile.

**************************************

 Slumped on a couch in the almost empty club, listening to Spike extolling the virtues of pub food as opposed to American club snacks, absent-mindedly playing with the angel-fish charm on her necklace, Buffy was having a déjà-vu kind of feeling.  “Stop this! We’re here to talk about some hellmouthy style wonkiness, not fish and chips.”

 Spike’s round face expression was inscrutable in the dimly lighted interior. He took a breath, held it a moment and went:  “ _Fine_ , then. Much as it pains me to agree with your butchered version of the language, _wonkiness_ sounds about right. So...had any missing time or memory loss lately?”

In spite of her prompting, Buffy hadn’t expected he’d go straight to the point. Her eyes narrowed: “Lately as in this last month?”

 “On the nose. And what about me?”

 “You. You what?”

 “Shouldn’t you hate me—mortal enemies and all? I’d have thought you’d go to your watcher with your _wonkiness_ ’— he made air quote marks—‘problems”

 “I do, I hate you! Well... kind of. We do argue a lot, that’s from the mortal enemy thing, right? And to be fair, you have that chip, so hating you is not so much a priority, I guess. As for talking problems, ok, Giles hasn’t been exactly forthcoming with me’- and here her eyes went huge-’—in this _last month_!”

 They looked squarely at each other for a beat, and then: “A spell!” she exclaimed, while he growled “A sodding, buggering spell!”

 Buffy got that slightly maniacal look in her eyes like the Slayer was in charge—Spike felt a shiver of mixed fear and excitement—she said with certainty: “Someone’s tampered with _me_ ’—at his offended look—‘with us. OK, then it’s magic, so we need to go see a witch.”

*****************************************

 “What’s in it for me’, Willow said, ‘not like I’m the Chosen One, my expertize should be valued”.

 She was in her old room at home, feeding her goldfish, while Spike was hovering just outside the French doors, having been refused an invite, fuming and blowing cigarette smoke toward the inside in petty revenge.

 Buffy honestly could not not agree-- _Lots of good it does me being the Chosen_ —“ I don’t really have a lot of money ‘till I get my allowance,” she started,  but the vampire scoffed “Bugger that, I do, and I don’t mind paying as long as I get results. ‘-- _Well now, that was new: where did the poor vampire in need for cigarettes money routine go?_ \--‘We’re going to need a good spell revealer, or a general reversal spell—no, that’s too risky—the reveal, then, and then the source. Starting point about one month ago.”

 Willow’s eyes shined at the sight of the wad of cash Spike held out for her. “Deal! _Hey_!” Half the money had gone back in his pocket: “You get the other half when it’s done.”

 A bit disgruntled, she put the bills in her bag and started writing down a list of spell ingredients “I’ll also need a very good aquamarine crystal that I saw in the Magic Box, and the expenses are on you, mister.”

*****************************

 They had agreed to meet again the next night at Restfield, convenient for Buffy who was going to pretend with Giles that she was just going on patrol, and no property damage if the spell resulted more flamey or breaky than expected. Willow had asked for taxi money, in addition to the materials, and Spike had complained but complied. In the end, after Buffy eluded Giles’ watchful eyes, she shared the taxi ride with her friend to save herself the long fatiguing walk. The spell itself turned out to be kind of pretty. Since it required water they were standing near the little ornamental fountain by the Alpert tomb, the lit candles placed all around the mossy rim of the basin with pink seashells in between. After some chanting, and salt tossing, and more chanting, the candle flames flared high and suddenly, reflected from the submerged big crystal, up came a series of blue-green arcs that shot up and out, hitting each of them as if they were the legendary pot of gold, while other streaks of light went far beyond the cemetery walls, towards the town.

“Woha! Tingling! ” said Willow dreamily.

 Buffy was seeing spots of blue and green. “So, it _was_  a spell, right?”

 “Oh, it’s a spell all right.’- then with something sinister in her voice’- We are _all_ under this baby”

 Spike was still blinking under the effect of the light show: “What now, you need to set up more mojo for the whodunit?

 “Nah, it’s all done already: I’ve attuned the crystal so it will shine real bright the more it gets closer to the source of the original enchantment”

 “Wills, you’ve gotten really, really good at this! Let’s follow the blue crystal road!—That is to say—is it going to be very far?”

 After a couple false starts, and a small pause so Buffy could rest a little (“No, not tired, it’s just these new boots”), the ragtag team found themselves downtown outside a pretentious cocktail place. The crystal was in Spike’s pocket now, being so shiny that he claimed attracted too much attention—Buffy thought it was just hurting his creature-of-the-night baby blues, the big baby.

 Willow was in a snit: “How are we going to know who’s the spell caster if you insist on keeping my lovely charmed stone in your pocket?”

 “Your stone? I paid for it, you used it already, it’s mine now: end of the story.”

 “Oh, really? Then I want the rest of my money right now, ‘cause I’m going home”

 “What, are you bonkers? You have to _undo_  the damn spell!”

 The witch’s eyes glinted wickedly: “What’s in it for me? Don’t think you remember the terms of our little agreement. Find a spell, trace it. This is extra. _It’s gonna cost you_...” she sing-songed.

 “Fine, then! Keep the bloody crystal, just don’t shine the bloody thing in my face!”  

Buffy was trying not to yell at them both and looking through the tinted windows. “No need. I know exactly who the stupid sorcerer is.”

 Ethan Rayne was in fact at the bar trying to chat up an uninterested barista. Buffy quickly directed the offensive: Spike was to block the exit, Buffy would approach the chaos mage from behind while Willow would sneak from the side with the purpose of delaying him in case he tried doing magic. As they were making their way towards where Ethan was precariously perched on a stool trying to look into the bartender’s cleavage, all hell broke loose. A commotion started at the entrance, where Giles was yelling at Spike “Move away from this door directly, you idiot! Buffy! Buffy Anne Summers! Come here right now and explain yourself!”

 While Ethan started in surprise at seeing Rupert at the door, and the Slayer not ten feet away, the crystal in Willow’s hand started vibrating and  humming and then emitting a blinding light jumped to the sorcerer’s breast sticking like a magnet to a fridge.

 Giles had squeezed around Spike and was heatedly addressing Buffy “Did you think I would fall for your juvenile tricks? I knew you were skirting your duties! And to find you in a bar of all places— _Ethan_? Wait, what--”

 By then, Willow had her hands on the crystal and was trying to pry it loose from Rayne’s hideous shirt. Buffy was thinking she might as well sit this one out, but no, she was the Slayer, so decided to tackle Ethan first, deal with Giles after, therefore she grabbed his right arm just as Willow was pulling in the other direction, and off the breast pocket ripped from the shirt, letting a tiny Swarovski mermaid fall to the ground and shatter in pieces. Ethan yelped. Willow was staring in dismay at the dulled crystal in her hands. A wave seemed to bend the air around them and spread out, and suddenly Buffy wasn’t tired anymore, and seriously pissed with Ethan first, Giles a very close second. “Stay!’—and she added a good shake for emphasis, then turning to Giles—‘ _Reports_? For the _Council_? Skirting my duties?”

 “Oh, dear. Buffy, I, I don’t know what to—it was obviously a spell of sorts’—then focusing on the still recognizable mermaid pieces—‘a Triton spell?”

 “Yes, Giles, _obviously_  a spell—one whole month I tried to talk to you about the weirdness! You were just going ‘reports’, blah blah, ‘pay attention’, blah blah, ‘rules’—you never listened to me once!”

 High sounds of cheers and clapping turned everyone’s gaze toward Spike, who’d abandoned his oversized pants and loafers were they fell, and was jumping tables and running about in his flopping overlarge dress shirt, looking for all the world like a demented cherubim: “I’m lean! I’m athletic! I’m back!”

 Buffy grabbed him in the middle before he could jump the counter and flash everybody in the place. “Stop! They’re all staring at you!” He just leaned back with an elbow on the counter grinning suggestively “Probably the best thing they’ll ever see, don’t you think?”

 With a wink and an air kiss he lit himself a cigar— _Where did he get that?_ —posing as if for the cameras in all his glory of tousled curls, tunic-like shirt and bare legs, puffing at his cigar with the utmost relish.

 So baffled was she by his antics, it took Willow’s “Look out! He’s leaving!” to realize that she wasn’t holding onto Ethan’s arm any more, and the creepy weasel had taken the moment of confusion as his cue to run.

****************************************

 Back at Giles’s, the girls had tea in nice cups with saucers, imported fancy biscuits and lemon drops pressed on them by a very flustered Watcher who couldn’t be more apologetic, and trying at his best, with the aid of big books and long words, to explain the Triton spell that apparently was anchored on the now broken mermaid and was a means to pick and switch qualities and traits from different people and concentrate them in one person of the sorcerer’s choice. “So, the bad guys are both human. What do I do now?” Buffy was restless. The three vampires and two assorted demons she got on their way home had by no means used all her drive.

 “Err, not much, I’m afraid. Ethan will be far gone by now, and once the focus was broken, there’s no way to trace the spell back. But it will have dispelled at the same time with our side of it, so this person, the subject of the incantation,  should not be a threat anymore. Probably.”

**********************************

 Back in New Jersey, Chris was resentfully contemplating a new Big&Tall wardrobe until his tailor was done with the good stuff. The delivery from the Doublemeat Palace had been too little, too late, and he was considering the possibility of going to the new fried fish restaurant for lunch. The staff was still not talking to him.

*********************************

 Ethan Rayne was fending off the wet attention of another little bastard, and counting the hours ‘till his shift at the animal shelter was over. Hiding in Seattle was a drag, but at short notice it was the best he could do. Word was that the Jersey mob had hired a team of warlocks just to find him, so he couldn’t use any magic and really didn’t have many other resources. When his turn was finally over, it was raining again.

***********************************

 Movie night had been fun. Mum was feeling better and made her much appreciated chocolate with an orangey twist, they had watched Sleepy Hollow on which they all agreed, and even let Dawn stay though she would ask strange questions all the time, and Anya was pointing out what she thought were mistakes. Willow had watched with only half an eye, too busy catching up on her neglected homework to take even that little time out. Everybody went home happy and relaxed, and Buffy was doing a second patrol, just in case someone evil didn’t get the memo that the Slayer was onto them, and to breathe some pleasantly fresh night air after being cooped up with the gang. She was walking along the park gates when a behemoth of a car slowed down, accosted and kept pace with her.

 “Need a lift, luv?” It seemed like the grin hadn’t left his angular face since the de-spelling.

 “I could lift your ugly car if I wanted, Spike”

 “Don’t. My darling’s innocent. If you want to take car-wrecking as a hobby, I could take you to the police pound; lots of nasty cars in there”

“Are you trying to make small talk? What is it?” Not that she really minded.

 “Hey now! We made a good team the other night, right? Saved the day and all”

 “I mostly remember you acting like a clown”, she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

 “Unforgettable, am I? Good night, Buffy, ‘till next time” And with a hand wave and a rumble he was gone.

 

 


End file.
